


The Bathing Habits of Wizards

by rem71090



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: But don't mention it or she will stab you, Caleb gets a bath you guys, Caleb's smell, Caleb/Fjord if you wear your glasses, Gen, I don't know anything about dungeons and dragons don't yell at me about geography OR money, Yasha is a marshmallow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rem71090/pseuds/rem71090
Summary: Caleb doesn't really like the water, he can sort of deal with it, but his hair is becoming a problem. His new friends help him deal with it. Probably not the ones you are guessing.





	The Bathing Habits of Wizards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mischief7manager](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief7manager/gifts).



> Notes, in no particular order:
> 
> 1) The reason this fic is not 100% commas is MeMeMe who is always patient, and kind, and takes them away from me.  
> 2) I am hellssamaritan on tumblr! Come visit me!  
> 3) Mischief7Manager on tumblr asked for someone to write a fluffy/angsty hair-washing fic after Caleb purposefully did not get his hair wet in episode four. I tried to do that.  
> 4) More notes at the end

Prison was… not nice. Or, well, prison itself was not that bad, compared to a number of other places Caleb has been. Prison had a roof, and what passed for meals, and Nott. Unfortunately, prison also had guards. Prison guards were not nice. They probably would have been nicer to Caleb if he had been alright with them being… meaner to Nott. Caleb wishes he could say that he stood up for Nott because he was good and brave, and she was so small, but the truth was that on the first day Caleb had definitely been more afraid of the small green goblin than she was of him.

He had been cold and violently shivering when she approached him, sticking to the shadows the way she still does. “I know I’m ugly for a halfling but I’m not diseased” – and, Gods all be blessed, but she thinks she passes for a halfling –  “it’s cold in here and two is better than one?”

Two is better than one. She is so small, and it is hard to guess her age. To hear people of the smaller races tell it, humans are particularly bad at guessing the ages of anything smaller than them, as though maturity has a height requirement. Caleb tries to be conscious of that bias, he tries to be aware of all of his biases, but on that night when he met Nott for the first time, all he could think about as she clambered onto his lap was that she weighed less than any child he has been allowed close enough to lift lately. Well, that and she was a lot slimier than he had expected, and he had expected a non-zero amount of slime. Neither of them had frozen to death that night.

Better with two.

It has become what they tell each other on the hard days.

Most of the days in prison were hard days.

Caleb and Nott had favorites among the guards. Nott liked the ones who wore their belts a bit too loose, the careless ones. Eventually Nott was able to steal the keys from one of their belts. Caleb’s favorites were the ones who liked to use their fists.

They were cruel, but under the circumstances, cruelty was the cruel more than the exception. They were cruel, but they were not clever, and bruises heal a lot faster than some of the other things. Caleb still has nightmares about the day he and Nott had been without water for long enough that it was becoming clear the guards had not simply forgotten to give them their rations, Caleb had begged. He is not a proud man. Pride is an affectation of those who have never been truly hungry, and he has never regretted things he’s needed to do to keep himself alive.

He wishes he hadn’t begged.

They’d given him water, poured it down his mouth until he couldn’t breathe, until his vision went black, until there were stars swimming in front of his eyes, until Nott’s voice screaming at them to stop became his mother’s voice telling him that it was okay to come home. Then they had stopped, and the air hurt almost as much as the water. But, of course, the water was back.

After that Caleb and Nott did not ask for more rations, and they escaped not that much later.

So. Prison was not nice, and Caleb does not particularly enjoy water around his face. He would rather not talk about it. It is hard not to talk about things that Jester wants to talk about, though.

“Nott said you took a bath! Why are you still so stinky?” Caleb genuinely likes Fjord. He’s got a nice accent and he’s good with words which point to a talented tongue. He appears to be the only one in their rag-tag group who cares about doing the right thing, and he’s green which is apparently a thing Caleb is into now. Caleb likes Fjord and Fjord likes Jester and Nott is growing increasingly attached so it seems unlikely he is going to be able to convince the group that they want to split off and leave Jester to the tender mercies of, well, everyone who isn’t Fjord and Nott.

“Ancient wizard curse” he grits out, instead, resisting the urge to take a sniff. She’s mentioned the smell a few times now, but surely if he smelled that bad someone else would have said something? The bath had felt so good, it had been amazing to finally feel clean, to feel months of dirt scrape away, but maybe he should have washed the clothes too?

He feels dirty again.

Yasha is watching him now, which is just great. He isn’t afraid of her the way Nott is, but there is something about the dual colored eyes that unnerves him. Although Nott is wearing a yellow flower tucked behind her ear, and Caleb’s not quite sure afraid  is the right word to describe how Nott is acting around Yasha anymore. Yasha had come across the group earlier today, and it had seemed like an accident, except for the way she happened to have a flower that just happened to match Nott’s eyes with her. It’s not a beautiful flower, but Nott is not a beautiful girl, and the flower suits.

Yasha is not saying anything though, just watching, placid. Caleb tries glaring, which she meets with a smile and a shrug. Well, Yasha is less of an immediate problem than Jester, who is looking at him with horror.

“You’ve been cursed with eternal stench? I can help, I am very good with magic!” Jester casts thaumaturgy and suddenly her voice echoes orders of magnitudes louder than he is used to “Fjord! We need to break a curse on Caleb, so he will be less stinky!”

“Fjord is also good at magic,” she whispers, although, with the cantrip, it comes out like her normal voice. Of course, she has attracted the attention of everyone around them.

“We are going to have a serious talk about low-profile,” Fjord drawls at Jester, rolling his eyes at Caleb.

“I like the way Caleb smells!” Nott, bless her, is on Caleb’s side against everything although he isn’t sure he is helping his cause.

“Thank you, Nott.” He grins at her, and she grins back, the sight only slightly less disconcerting all these months later.

This distracts Jester into a conversation about what smell is like for a goblin, and the subject appears to be dropped, for now. But Caleb spends the rest of the walk into town feeling oils and dirt accumulate and thicken his hair. He feels itchy, dirty, and smelly, his hair and beard are the worst of it. He can probably take a bath when they find an inn, but he won’t be able to wash his hair. Just the thought of getting his hair wet makes his throat close up and Caleb is not. He’s not brave.

 In Alfield, Jester and Nott are entranced by the sign of The Silver Chalice Inn. There is an iridescent painting of a chalice studded with gemstones, even the letters on the sign are metallic. It looks like there has been some serious magecraft put into the sign, which puts the inn above their price range, but with Nott and Jester so enamored with shiny things – they go in.

It is a lot nicer than Caleb is used to, the tavern on the first floor doesn’t look like it has seen a bar fight in months; none of the surfaces are sticky. It is not a place for people like Caleb. Which is, of course, why Fjord appears to be negotiating for four rooms. Caleb wonders why he the only one who realizes Jester and Nott are going to try to steal the sign tonight.

Fjord manages to convince the innkeeper, Mara, to rent them the rooms for two gold pieces a night, she’s throwing in meals and baths. In a coup, Fjord has also managed to get ale included in accommodations, although not liquor.

Caleb is prepared to go to his room with Nott and spend some time reading, sleeping, or just not being around all these people (look, he likes these crazy assholes, mostly, but, he has just gotten used to having two, and suddenly there are a lot more than two). Yasha does not appear to be prepared for that.

“You are coming with me.” She pauses, considers. “Nott, Molly, you come too.”

“Can I come?” Jester asks, bright as the sign hanging outside.

“No.” Yasha doesn’t even hesitate. Neither do Molly or Nott, and Caleb is not going to be the only one arguing with a woman who carries a sword larger than Nott.

“Are you particularly modest?” Yasha asks, and Caleb is so startled by the question, he just answers.

“No?”

She has keys in her hand she leads them all into the room where there is already, inexplicably, a tub of water waiting, tendrils of steam wafting up. Mara cannot possibly have had time to send a servant to heat water, so it must be magically done. If someone at the inn has magic, it explains the sign and might be part of why it was so reasonable to rent, although innkeeper is an odd choice of vocation for a magic user good enough to summon a tub of hot water to a room they aren’t in without spilling even a drop onto the floor. Well, it’s not any of Caleb’s business, and caring about other people’s business is what got him into all this mess in the first place.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yasha, you can’t just –” Molly interjects at the same time, although he is clearly amused.

Nott doesn’t say anything.

“You are going to take all your valuables out and give them to Nott, who is going to watch them. You are going to take your clothes off and give them to Molly, who is going to clean them. You are going to take a bath. Then I am going to clean your hair.” Yasha is not looking at any of them while she tells Caleb all the things he is going to do. “You can… you can hold my sword while I do. If you want.”

The globe of anxiety that has lived in Caleb’s throat for hours bursts and the edges of the world feel too sharp, cutting through his lungs. Someone had better call Jester, he thinks, distantly, because something has cut holes in his lungs and all the air has escaped.

“Maybe it’s better with more than two?” Nott asks, tentative, and the world slowly starts softening back to bearable. He notices the way Yasha is not meeting anyone’s eyes, not even Molly’s, shifting from foot to foot and looking like she wants to run. He remembers how twice people had asked Yasha to give up her weapon and she had refused to allow them to so much as touch it.

Molly looks immaculate. After days on the road his clothes are still clean and smell faintly of some herb Caleb doesn’t recognize. Even Jester is looking a little run down by now, so Mollymauk probably knows some laundering secrets from years on the road. Yasha’s hair is a mess, but it looks like it she’s done it intentionally. Neither of them looks dirty. Caleb is tired of being a filthy, smelly coward. If Yasha and Molly can help, even a little, well, he can try.

Nott doesn’t care at all about paper, but when Caleb hands his books to her she treats them like they are shiny. Molly takes his clothes and leaves without making even a single sardonic comment, which is probably hard for him. Caleb would like to sit and soak in the bath – sitting and soaking in baths is, as far as he can tell, the primary appeal, and he is sore from a long day of walking – but it is a little hard with a woman bigger than he is sitting on the bed, apparently examining Nott’s rock collection.

To Yasha’s credit, she doesn’t appear to care how long it takes Caleb in the bath. She hasn’t once looked at him. Caleb had told her that he was not modest, and he isn’t – he is comfortable with his body, and he doesn’t really care who sees it – but Yasha’s clinical detachment is new. It doesn’t matter, though, that she appears prepared to wait as long as necessary for him, because as he sits in the bath he thinks about Yasha, easily capable of holding him under the water, standing behind him, getting him wet, and it is hard to breathe all over again. Nott would try to save him, he knows, but Yasha is so strong, and it would end terribly, and it is getting hard to breathe again, why on earth did he agree to this?

“I don’t like being trapped,” Yasha says, still looking at a particularly garish ring. “It makes me feel itchy, on the inside. Sometimes just being around people makes me feel like they are trying to tie me down and I can’t breathe so I have to leave.” Caleb is so busy listening to Yasha that he forgets he can’t breathe.

“I don’t know what happened to you. You don’t have to tell me, I don’t really care. But I don’t think you want to be dirty, so, I’m going to show you.” Caleb doesn’t point out that her actions are not those of someone who doesn’t care. “I’m going to have to get your hair wet today, because it’s dirty, but your face can stay dry, and you can keep your hair dry in the future.”

From her pack Yasha takes out a hair comb, a brush, and a bottle of oil, and then she brings Caleb her sword.

He starts to tell her it isn’t necessary, but the look in her eyes stops him. Caleb is trusting her, letting her do this and he thinks he might insult her by rejecting her gesture. He is pretty invested in not insulting this woman, especially now that he knows, for a fact, that he cannot lift her sword. He braces himself for a bucket of water to his head. It’s going to be terrible, but he can survive this. He’ll need to do it twice, and then it will be over, and he can get very drunk.

“I’m going to get my comb wet and then brush your hair.” Yasha’s voice is right next to his ear and she reaches down to dip the comb in the bath. She is running the comb through his hair before he realizes that this means that he will be getting a lot less wet than he was afraid of. This is bearable, almost pleasant. Yasha continues to dip her comb into the water before working it through his hair, gentle on any tangles she finds, not speaking any more, her broadsword is a comforting weight across his knees.

“I am going to work this soap through your hair now – it’s what Mollymauk uses on his hair so don’t tell him we took it.”

“I can take more if you want!” Nott offers from the bed.

“Thank you, but no.” Caleb responds.

Yasha’s hands are strong and perfunctory, she doesn’t linger over a massage, more concerned with ensuring the soap reaches all over his scalp than any pleasantries, which is a shame, because this actually feels sort of nice.

“I’m going to get the comb wet again and wash out the soap.” Caleb appreciates her telling him everything she does beforehand, it helps keep him grounded. It takes her longer to rinse out the soap, because she is careful to ensure all the soap is gone from his hair, and, by the end of it, his hair is oil slick wet and his shoulders are so tight they feel like they might snap.

“I’m done,” and Caleb is out of the tub, dripping naked on the floor before the words are out of Yasha’s mouth. There is a stack of towels in the room, but there are also the towels Nott stole from the bathhouse, which actually wrap all the way around Caleb’s waist.

Yasha tosses a jar of powder onto the bed, ability to be close apparently exhausted. “Work the powder through your hair every other day or so, make sure you really brush it through, it will absorb any excess oil and keep your hair clean. Let me or Molly know if you run out. I’m going to go get a drink.”

“I like her.” Nott pronounces, before moving off the bed, to make a nest on the floor. With Nott apparently deciding that this is their room, his clothes still missing, and all his anxiety having briefly abandoned him to leave room for exhaustion, Caleb decides to take a nap.

When he wakes up, his clothes are on the foot of the bed, and Nott is missing. He feels a brief stab of panic. On her own she gets into trouble. But they aren’t on their own anymore.

Caleb’s clothes are cleaner than they were when he bought them second hand. There were holes, and they have been patched by fabric that is more colorful than he would have chosen for himself, but a lot more sedate than Molly would have picked. They smell woodsy and pleasant, and when Caleb pulls them on and runs a hand through his hair, he feels like a new man.

A new man who is starving.

His… friends (?) have pulled two tables together and appear to be attempting to drink The Silver Chalice out of ale Nott has a pile of bacon in front of her, Jester has a whole pie, and everyone else has slightly more balanced meals. Nott and Jester jump in their chairs exuberantly when they see him, everyone else has slightly more discrete reactions.

“Low profile, Jester,” Fjord admonishes, but his heart isn’t in it, he hasn’t even really left his discussion with Beau. They appear to be debating armed vs unarmed combat and which one of them is more useful in a fight. As the answer to the question is definitely ‘not Caleb’, he decides not to weigh in.

“Caleb!” Jester beams at him. “You are so handsome when you are clean! Sit down so I can braid your hair.”

Caleb sits down, because he wants to eat dinner, but he doesn’t object, and Jester is at his side with a speed that would have been useful in any of the fights they have been in.

“Caleb! You are still stinky! Your hair smells like Molly!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So, shampoo and hair washing as we know them are relatively modern things. Probably Caleb doesn't actually need to wash his hair, because powders or oils brushed through the hair accomplished the same thing. And I don't want to go into the types of natural hair oils produced by Teiflings and Aasimir, so, I'm just assuming that they are all relatively close to white Germanic, because that is what Caleb presents as and I am not going on a research spiral. I tried to meld the actual request, which was for hair washing, with historic things but who knows how I did. But, true story - probably Caleb would NOT need to scrub his hair with soap more than once every six months, given the how people COULD make shampoos, they were really harsh and would strip the natural oils that hair like Caleb's needs.


End file.
